I went to church this morning – leading morning prayer at 7:30 and then attending low mass at 8 am. Ray came with me – always a treat – and we stayed afterwards to chat at coffee hour. Ray will go to the 8 o’clock mass because, as he says, “We get all that church stuff over with fast.” He prefers the coffee hour at the earlier service because there are fewer people and they are “a friendlier bunch” than those who congregate after the 10:30. I like both masses – especially the music at the 10:30 – but I must admit that it’s nice to be home by 10 am on a Sunday morning.
While Ray likes the social aspects of church and is tepid on any spiritual ones, I am keener on the spiritual stuff. I am even capable of only going to mass and skipping coffee hour altogether, but have learned through Ray that it’s important to be involved in the community aspect of church.
My husband, reluctant as he is, attends church more regularly than many “good” Christians, and I’ve learned a fair amount from watching him over these years. He’s a decent and kind man with the ability to make people laugh even when they aren’t expecting to. He is unique, and actively seeks out others who “get” him, primarily revealed by whether or not they laugh at his jokes. Ray has some people who truly don’t get him at all, but he also has a whole host of loyal friends whose affection borders on adoration. He is opinionated, easily bored, keenly observant and his humor is almost always irreverent.
For someone like me, who can be a slight “Goodie-Two Shoes,” he is a perfect balance. He teases me incessantly about all of my faults from my forgetting to use nouns in sentences to my tendency to guess what someone has just said rather than admit I couldn’t’ make out their words due to my hearing loss. He pushes and prods me out of my stoic tendencies and makes me admit how I’m really feeling, which generally has something to do with being mad at him. He has dragged me to garage sales, flea markets, antique shows, and art museums and encouraged active “examination” rather than my default position of passive “observation.” And he has accepted this “quirky” spiritual side of me that is not something that he relates to, but something he recognizes as critical to my happiness. I even overheard him say to the boyfriend of one of our daughter’s, “Don’t worry, church won’t rub off on you. But you will make Len really happy if you go with us on Christmas Eve.” Clearly, this reflects his own experience.
A long time ago I spoke to a beloved priest about the fact that Ray and I had different attitudes about church and the value of a spiritual life. His advice to me was, “Respect his beliefs and he will come to respect yours. Don’t be rigid. Stay home sometimes from church so he can see that you will bend.”
My cradle-Episcopalian mother raised an eyebrow to those words. “You have an obligation to be in church every Sunday, you know.”
But, instead I heeded that priest’s advice – dear Father Forrest – and I must admit that over these almost 33 years of marriage, I’ve watched my husband unbend from his rigid position as I’ve unbent from mine.
Respect, after all, breeds respect.
And so now we go mainly to the 8 o’clock so that Ray can enjoy coffee hour. I am happy he is going at all. And, besides, he’s right. Those early birds tend to be slightly friendlier. They also happen to be the people who laugh at my husband’s jokes.
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